Chapter 4 The Gathering

The deeper Aria traveled into the Wilds, the stranger the forest became.

Twisting trees dripped with silver moss. Pools of black water reflected not her face, but flashes of other wolves-ghosts or memories, she couldn't tell. The air shimmered with unseen magic, thick enough to taste.

Her new mark guided her, glowing faintly whenever she strayed too far from the hidden paths. It pulled her forward like a heartbeat-steady, relentless.

Days blurred together. She didn't know how long she walked. Hunger gnawed at her ribs, thirst cracked her lips, but she didn't stop. Couldn't. Something was calling her.

Someone.

On the third night, she found them.

The scent of blood reached her first-sharp, coppery, fresh. She sprinted toward it, instincts roaring. Bursting through the underbrush, she stumbled into a small clearing where a pack of rogues had cornered a young wolf.

Aria froze, heart seizing.

The wolf was barely more than a pup-maybe sixteen-skinny and bruised, his brown fur matted with blood. He bared his teeth, trying to fight, but there were too many of them. Four massive rogues, snarling, circling.

Without thinking, Aria stepped into the clearing.

"Enough."

Her voice cracked through the night like a whip.

The rogues turned, startled. They sniffed the air-and immediately recoiled. Fear flashed in their eyes.

They felt her bloodline.

One rogue-a scarred female-growled low in her throat, as if trying to resist the instinct to submit. She lunged.

Aria didn't hesitate.

She raised her hand, and silver light flared from her palm. The rogue yelped, thrown backward as if by an invisible force, crashing into the trees and scrambling away.

The others fled without a sound.

Silence fell.

The boy stared at her, wide-eyed, shaking.

"Who... who are you?" he gasped.

Aria walked to him slowly, lowering her hand. "A friend," she said gently.

She crouched beside him, inspecting his wounds. Bad, but not fatal. He flinched when she touched his arm, but didn't pull away.

"You have the mark," he whispered, staring at her wrist.

Aria blinked. "You recognize it?"

He nodded, awe in his voice. "The stories say... when the Queen rises again, she'll carry the silver flame. That she'll gather the broken wolves. That she'll make us strong."

A chill raced down her spine.

"I don't feel strong," she muttered.

But the boy shook his head, smiling through his bloodied mouth. "You are. I can feel it."

Something inside her cracked-not pain this time, but something gentler. Hope.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Finn," he said.

She helped him to his feet. He stumbled, and she let him lean on her.

"Come on," Aria said. "We're not done yet."

Because if there was one pup like Finn, there would be others. Broken, rejected, abandoned.

Wolves like her.

Her Court.

The Moon hadn't sent her into exile to die. It had sent her to gather the forgotten pieces of a kingdom waiting to be reborn.

She lifted her gaze to the darkened sky, where the thin crescent of the Moon gleamed through the clouds.

"I'll find them," she vowed aloud.

The wind stirred in the trees, a whisper of approval.

And as she led Finn deeper into the Wilds, Aria realized-this was only the beginning.

They had taken her pack, her mate, her name.

She would take everything back.

And when she did, even the alphas would kneel.